Life Again
by FireWren
Summary: A clash with the remains of Voldermort's army leaves Harry dazed and drained, forced to live through events he has experienced before. Will Harry hedge this second chance in his favour, or will his happy future slip through his grasp. Rated M for future content.
1. Chapter 1

Hello all, it's your favourite completely random writer who can't finish a story, FireWren!

This story is an experiment of mine. Recent events of my life have caused me to try and purge certain emotions from my dailiy life: emotions that I have always used to write my stories. Without those emotions, I had to try and find a new muse for my many story ideas. This story is the guinea pig.

This story is largely inspired by the multitude of Second Chance and Time Travel fics in the Harry Potter fandom, though my biggest inspiration is probably Dodging Prison and Stealing Witches by LeadVonE. It is a truly marvellous fic, and I hope you decide to check it out

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling This story is simply a fan appreciation of her marvellous work.

Warning: This story will reference information that was given in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Those who wish to avoid mild spoilers are advised to but this story on hold and go read the play.

* * *

Harry sighed.

No matter how intently he stared at his mountain of paperwork, it refused to magically complete itself. The pile simply teetered within the 'In' box on his desk, ominously looming over his quill and ink pot. Harry steeled himself for the task ahead. Some days he found himself wishing he had a Horcrux to hunt down or a Basilisk to fight: anything to get him away from this bloody desk!

Then again, he certainly wasn't as young and spry as he used to be. Harry Potter was getting older. Well into his forties, his once jet black hair had streaks of grey in it, and his face had more than a few wrinkles adorning it. He was also a little larger than he once was, being able to constantly enjoy full meals whenever he pleased. He was still small compared to most men his age, but he no longer felt quite as much of a runt. Though the most notable change was in his trade-mark lightning-bolt scar finally having faded to being barely noticeable against his skin. It was still there, of course. It would be there for all his life. But like all things, even it had begun to fade.

As Harry reached towards his quill and removed the first paper from the top of the pile, he glanced over at the portrait on his desk and smiled. Smiling back at him was his greatest treasure of all: his family. Ginny was cradling a baby Lily in her arms, occasionally looking up to wave at him, or to stop the toddler versions of James and Albus from rough-housing each other. Harry had more recent photos of his family, but this one was always his favorite: the one that never failed to make him happy.

Harry took a glance at his watch. It was getting late. Most of the Ministry will have headed home by now. His kids would be getting back for the holidays in less than an hour. Lily and James would be eager to talk about all their activities in school. Maybe he could even sit down with Albus and have a chat. Harry hated to admit how little he knew about his Slytherin son, but maybe he could try and patch things up over the holidays.

That is, if he could ever finish his paperwork. Harry gave the offending stack another glare, before returning to his current paper with a sigh. What did dark wizards have against holidays? Couldn't they take a break around December and let him go spend time with his family?

A faint knock at his door drew Harry's attention away from his paper yet again as Ron Weasley stepped into his office.

"A right bloody storm out their, mate." Ron said by way of greeting, shaking some snow from his brilliant red hair. "Hermionie is all in a tuff, saying the weather will make it difficult to get together for Christmas dinner. Does she forget that we're bloody wizards?"

Harry made a non-committal grunt as he returned to his work, dipping his quill into his ink pot. Ron was still Harry's closest friend-even more so now that he was his brother-in-law-but Harry still found himself having to tune out the other man's complaints from time to time.

Ron took a glance at Harry's work pile and grimaced. "Lord mate, not sure how your gonna make it home with that work load. This is why I quit the Auror business and started working with George at the joke shop. Too much paperwork."

Harry gave Ron a rueful smile. "Oh yes, I'm sure that's why you chose to do that. Nothing about being the funny father, or your wife being the Minister for Magic."

"Oi!" Ron yelped indignantly, giving Harry a light thump on the shoulder. Harry just let out a laugh.

Suddenly, one of Harry's Aurors, a young woman by the name of Magnolia, burst into his office. Harry turned to her with a smile, which was immediately replaced by a more serious grimace when he caught sight of her.

Magnolia's normally neat and tidy robes were in disarray. Her glossy black hair was in a tangled mess above her wild and panicked eyes. A large gash was open on her forehead, blood trickling down her face. Harry immediately stood, placing his quill down and moving towards her. "Magnolia! What's wrong?"

Magnolia glanced around, looking like a trapped animal, before her eyes finally met his. "Chief Potter! Death Eaters! In the Ministry!"

Harry saw Ron snatch up his wand and toss it to him, before grabbing his own. Harry placed his hand on Magnolia's quivering shoulder, forcing her to look him in the eye. "How many? And where are they?"

Magnolia drew a shaky breath, wiping the sweat and blood from her eyes. "Two dozen. Some were sealing up the floo network in the entry way. The others were heading to the Department of Mysteries."

** _Transition_ **

Harry Potter moved quickly through the halls of the Ministry, two of his best Aurors at his side. He had sent Magnolia to go and get medical treatment, and got Ron to head for Hermionie's Office. The Death Eaters may be heading to the Department of Mysteries, but he wouldn't bet money on them passing up a chance to off the Muggle-born Minister if said chance arouse.

What Harry couldn't figure out is why the Death Eaters would ever dare to attack the Ministry directly. It was true that at this hour, the Ministry only had a skeleton crew, but it was still one of the more secure places in magical Britain. What was so important that they would attack it head on? And where had they gotten these numbers? The last time this many Death Eaters were in one location... well, that was when Voldermort was still around.

"Alright, remember," Harry said as they moved towards the door to the Department of Mysteries "Our goal is to delay them until back up arrives. Keep your spells defensive, don't take any unnecessary risks. If these are really Death Eaters, they'll be some of the strongest wizards you've ever faced." Harry glanced over the anxious looks of his two Aurors. Both new bloods. Too young to have been in the war. "Good luck, and above all else: stay alive."

** _Transition_ **

A sense of loss seemed to permeate his every being as Harry Potter wrestled himself from sleep. His head hurt fiercely, and somethingseemed off. He felt weaker, for some reason. And quite hungry. He reached over to his side, seeking the comforting hand of his wife. Instead, he met the cold, hard surface of the wall. Confused, Harry reached to his other side for his glasses, only to hit another wall. Fighting the urge to panic, Harry sat up, only to strike his head against the strangely close ceiling. With a start, Harry suddenly realized the truth.

He wasn't at his comfortable house just south of London.

He was in the cupboard under the stairs, at Number 4 Privet Drive.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 right away!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling This story is simply a fan appreciation of her marvellous work.

* * *

Harry's breath was coming fast and panicked. What was going on? Why was he in the cupboard under the stairs? What had happened to the Ministry? Where was Ginny?!

Forcing himself to breath normally, Harry found his glasses on the left-hand shelf above his makeshift bed and put them on. He glanced at his hand, realising just how small it was. He would go so far as to say it was the size of a child's hand. And his pyjamas. These were the same ratty baby blue hand-me-downs he wore when he was younger. Back when he lived with the Dursleys.

What was going on? Harry racked his brain, trying to come up with a solution. Was he dreaming? He pinched his cheek, wincing at the pain. No, that wasn't it. Had he been dreaming? Harry tried to think. It had seemed so real. The magic. The life he had lived. Ginny...

But it was the only thing that made sense. For some reason, his tired and hungry brain had conjured up some fantastic fantasy as he slept. He could see it now. Why else would he have been so important? In reality, he was no-one special. He was Harry. Just Harry.

Shaking the fatigue from his eyes, he looked around his cupboard. It was as he remembered it. Same ratty, worn blankets. Same creaking boards above his head. Same spiders crawling around. His head throbbed as he tried to wrap his mind around this reality. Placing his hand against his left side, he pulled it away when he felt a wetness against his palm. Oh, he seemed to have hurt the side of his head. Maybe he had gotten an injury at school and that had caused this crazy dream.

A rattling at the door drew Harry from his musings as the lock on the cupboard was released, followed by the shrill voice of his Aunt. "Get up! Your helping with breakfast today. And don't you dare burn anything!"

"Yes Aunt Petunia." Harry responded automatically, grabbing some clothes to change. The shirt was a horrid puce colour, and was several sizes too big for him. Another of Dudley's hand-me-downs. Just like he remembered.

Harry tried to shake his head to clear his thoughts. He needed to forget that dream and focus on the now. The Dursleys hated talk of magic and such. He would be locked in the cupboard for the rest of the day if he mentioned it. If only his head didn't hurt so much.

Harry made his way out of his cupboard into the Dursley's spotless kitchen. Aunt Petunia was fussing over Dudley, fixing this ridiculous tux that he had on that made him look like an over-inflated penguin. Were the Dursley's going somewhere? At a second glance, Harry saw that Aunt Petunia was wearing a dress that was a nasty shade of green, with horrible blue laces and frills. Harry could almost remember that dress. Something about a friends wedding? Whatever, it didn't matter. He wasn't going, and he had to prepare breakfast.

Harry wandered over to the fridge and started grabbing ingredients as Uncle Vernon squeezed his way into the kitchen. "Oh, there's a handsome lad! Looking good son!" He announced, thumping Dudley lightly on the back as he leaned in for a quick kiss with Aunt Petunia. Then he turned to Harry. "Your head is cut, boy! Cover that up and don't bleed on anything! And don't burn anything, boy. I'm warning you."

"Yes Uncle Vernon." Harry responded, focusing on the breakfast while he quickly wrapped a bit of spare cloth around his head. He would be sent off to Ms. Figgs shortly after breakfast. For some reason, this day seemed familiar. Like he could almost remember something.

Suddenly Harry reached over and popped the toaster and quickly removed the bagels just as something popped, causing a spark to jump out of the opening. If the bread had still been in there, it would have been badly burned. Harry furrowed his brow. How had he known that was going to happen? Man it was hard to think with this head-ache.

"What are you doing, boy?" Uncle Vernon suddenly barked, bringing Harry back to reality. Right, breakfast.

"Sorry Uncle Vernon. Its finished, Uncle Vernon."

Harry quickly divvied the food out onto four plates, making sure to give himself a little less so that Dudley wouldn't groan about not having enough food so he could take Harry's.

Vernon stared at the plate in front of him with a look of surprise as Harry brought the food over to Petunia and Dudley. "Boy! Where did you learn to cook this?"

Harry blinked before looking down. There on his plate was a quarter of a simple cheese and onion omelette, with a side of sausage and a perfectly toasted half bagel with butter. Something about the breakfast made him remember his dream. This was Ginny's favourite breakfast, the kind he made whenever he was troubled so that her smile would cheer him up...

Harry came back to reality as he realised he might be in trouble. Harry had just done something strange. Something he shouldn't have. Whenever he did that, he was severely punished. He needed a reason. Any reason!

An idea popped in Harry's head. This could work, but only if he played it just right.

"W-well, Uncle Vernon," Harry started, deliberately avoiding eye contact, "I understand that Aunt Petunia is busy some mornings, and needs help in the kitchen. Since you and Aunt Petunia and Dudley let me stay here, I thought I should... well..." Harry let it trail off, looking at his feet. Harry had never considered himself a talented actor, but right now failing wasn't an option. He needed his Uncle to buy into the nervous, shy act.

"Well what, Boy?" Uncle Vernon demanded after a moment, his moustache trembling upon his lip. "Spit it out!"

"I thought I'd read up on how to cook in the library to help!" Harry finished quickly, shrinking away from his Uncle. Please, please work!

Vernon continued to glare at him for several seconds, as if trying to figure out his hidden truth. Suddenly, both he and Harry were brought to attention by the scraping of cutlery that alerted them to Dudley taking his first bite. Dudley placed the fork into his mouth and froze, the end of the utensil sticking out of his mouth in a manner that Harry could only describe as comical.

"Dudders?" Aunt Petunia pried carefully, leaning over towards her baby boy. "Are you okay? If you don't like it, we can make sure he never cooks again."

Dudley, for his part, seemed to be waging a war within his mind. Magical or not, Harry knew he wasn't a mind reader. However, what was going on in his cousin's brain was as easy to read as a book. Dudley, the bane of Harry's existence, was torn between two difficult decisions: claim he didn't like the food to get Harry in trouble, or admit that Harry did something good so he could eat more of this delicious food. Finally, Dudley's latter instincts won over, and he hastily took three more bites before sheepishly turning towards his parents, and uttering out a barely audible "I like it."

The Dursleys stared at each other for several seconds, before all starting to eat in silence. Harry couldn't believe it. He had pulled it off! Hiding his smirk, he quickly started to eat his own breakfast, making sure to keep his head down so as to not mess up this strange peace. However, this brought Harry's attention down. To something he hadn't noticed before. His right hand.

It was strange. Squinting at it, you could almost make something out. Long healed scars, shining white against his skin. Scars in the form of letters, spelling out a message. A message that Harry knew all to well.

I must not tell lies.

Harry fought with all his might not to panic, not to show any signs to the Dursleys that something was wrong. He casually hid his right hand in his pocket as they finished up breakfast, and used his left to gather the dishes to clean. But all the while, the gears in his head were turning.

Those scars were caused when had served detention with Umbridge. That had happened in his fifth year. But if those scars were there, what did it mean?

Something simple. Dark magic left scars that never healed. Even if your body turns back to a point before the scars, they will remain.

Magic was real. Hogwarts and the life he remembered was real.

Harry had gone back in time.


End file.
